


The Final Dream

by PeachGO3



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Exes, Fluff, M/M, Post-Inception, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 21:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19411555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachGO3/pseuds/PeachGO3
Summary: When it takes the single most dangerous mission of your career for you to realize you’re still in love with your ex.





	The Final Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah the film was on TV last night and the Dream Husbands feelings came up again, so I just had to write something. Anything, really;; Enjoy this little outpour.

What now?

Arthur rubbed his face. He was tired, he couldn’t think about it any longer. About what Cobb was doing now. He reached his goal, finally, he was able to go home. Settle down. Stop thinking about it, silly.

Arthur sighed when Eames’ body warmth reached his back. He turned at his hotel room door to face him. They stood way too close. “So,” he stated, but phrased it like a question. And didn’t continue. Eames looked around, head ducked, and cleared his throat before he spoke. “My room’s over there. Want to hang?” His voice was low and full of intimacy now that they were alone. Arthur sighed again.

“We could order something. Or I’ll get take-away from down the street,” Eames suggested, but Arthur could not allow himself to give in. “And then what?” he replied instinctively, but he remembered the very second he spoke: “Watching re-runs of Doctor Who? You walking around without your underpants?”

“Nothing bad about it,” Eames smiled. He finally looked up, and now he fixated Arthur’s eyes, hopeful, and Arthur gazed at the dirty ceiling. The lights flickered.

“The job’s done,” he said.

“Yeah. And I can see that you’re not up for it. I won’t talk you into it,” Eames said, fumbling with his room key. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” Arthur replied truthfully. “I’m just really tired. Even though we technically slept for about ten hours.” He tried to say it with a smile, but it must’ve looked sad more than anything else.

Eames nodded. “’kay.” He struggled to continue, but Arthur saw he wanted to say something, so he waited. Eames apologized. “Sorry. I just… You’re a brave man, Arthur. I wanted to get that off my chest. This job was tough, but you, you know… you just did it. From the beginning. I did you wrong.”

Arthur’s face softened. He could’ve said the same. Eames was brave. He was witty and nonchalant in the face of mortal danger, he was a brilliant impersonator and forger. Sure, a bit of a show-off. But always so damn charming. Optimistic. He had missed this. Missed _him_. Arthur could’ve said all of that, but all that came out was: “Thank you.”

“Even though you panicked a few times, but hey, that’s where I come in.”

Arthur nodded with a face. “Okay, now you’ve ruined it.” They chuckled. Eames’ rough voice was the best when he did that. A rough, giddy sound. Could he maybe…?

“Yes?” Eames said, and Arthur faltered. “Nothing,” he said quickly, but Eames brought his eyes up again. He sighed. He should tell him. “I was thinking about Cobb,” he brought himself to say. “How he’s with his kids now. Living his life as a normal man.”

Eames nodded, he listened.

“And I kind of…” Arthur’s voice trailed off. “I thought about it for a fair bit now, and I want that, too. I guess. Quitting. Settling down. I could go back to my hometown.” He sucked in a breath. “And just now I thought that, oh, maybe you could have my stuff then. The equipment. You’re just so damn good at this job. I’m being silly, sorry.”

Eames shook his head. “Why should that be silly?” he asked.

“Because I can’t possibly quit right now. I’ve got other missions. I got an extraction job in Nepal next month. Besides, Cobb may be happy now, but his past will haunt him. It will draw level with him. There’re still a lot of people who want to see him dead.” He grabbed his suitcase with both hands, shaking his head. “It’d be stupid of us to think we’d ever live in peace.” He smiled briefly. “I’m not using the word ‘impossible’, because I know you hate it, but, yeah. That’s what I mean.”

Eames nodded, exhaling. “Listen up, darling,” he said, “there’s a reason why I hate that word. People use it so inflationarily. And you quitting is anything but impossible. The sun burning forever, that’s impossible. And Arsenal cannot win the Championship this season. Yusuf getting a decent haircut, as of now, is impossible.”

Arthur chuckled, but Eames was totally earnest when he said: “You having a life after this isn’t. And get rid of your stuff, I don’t want it.” He paused. “Because when you’re out, then I’m too.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Arthur murmured, but he was too busy thinking about that temptation to sound firm. Living with him again? Watching Doctor Who and eating take-away? Snuggling up on the sofa and talking all night? Like normal people? A few days ago he couldn’t have possibly said it, but now – he wanted that. But could he have it? “If you don’t want me to call it ‘impossible’, then I’ll call it a dream instead,” he murmured. He let go of the suitcase to cup Eames’ stubbly cheek with his hand, and his ex all but melted against the gentle touch, eyes closed, sighing. Eames placed his hand on top of Arthur’s, frowning, wanting the moment to last, but Arthur drew away.

“It’s all but a dream,” he said with finality.

“If anyone,” Eames uttered, “if anyone in this goddamn world knows how real dreams can be, it would be you. Bloody hell.” He was about to cry.

“You’re tired, Mr. Eames, go to sleep,” Arthur teased him, but then he stepped forward, letting go of his suitcase completely, to hug him. Real dreams, huh? He wanted to allow himself this small bit of comfort, at least for the moment. Slinging both of his arms around him, Arthur felt himself blush. Dug his face into the crook of Eames’ neck to smell his familiar eau de cologne, mixed with sweat and cigarettes. Eames hugged him back, fiercely. He grabbed his jacket so firmly that Arthur feared he would tear it apart.

Their breaths steadied, and Arthur pulled away, resting his hands on Eames’ hips. It has been a real, real long time since he’s last held him like this. Looked at him like this. Eames brought a shaky hand up to tilt his chin, and Arthur let him.

“Sorry,” Eames whispered guiltily, “but you can’t look at me with those sweet, sweet eyes and expect me not to kiss you.”

Arthur pulled him closer and nuzzled his cheek. “Go for it, Mr. Eames. I’m not complaining anymore.”

Eames opened his mouth, but he couldn’t stop himself from teasing Arthur yet again. “At last. How do you like it?”

“I’ll start again if you don’t come inside,” Arthur breathed against the chapped lips, smirking, and turned around to unlock his room’s door. He moved purposefully slowly, because Eames had started ravishing his neck with excited lips, hands wandering up and down his torso. “Hm, yes…”

“There’s only one single bed,” Arthur explained, head tilted, but that just made Eames’ growl against his ear even happier.

“Get in,” he chuckled, “so I can agonize you with Pizza Hawaii and flat soda.”

“Sounds fucking great, to be honest,” Arthur admitted and turned to catch his lips in a deep, cathartic kiss. Those full, chapped, familiar lips. Flat coke and whiskey instead of red wine. Oh, how he’d missed this. Maybe it was just for tonight, maybe longer – snuggling up against that body, feeling its warmth, feeling him, laughing about his dumb jokes and waking up next to him – Arthur could hardly wait. He pulled them inside.


End file.
